


Three Gins In

by TianaTeaticket



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Broadway AU, Established Relationship, M/M, Making Up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 16:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18664528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TianaTeaticket/pseuds/TianaTeaticket
Summary: Jeremy Heere has been nominated for a Tony Award, but where is his plus one?A.K.A. the Broadway AU no one asked for





	Three Gins In

**Author's Note:**

> So I was planning to wait until the entire thing was finished to post BUT I know everyone is probably rather bummed about BMC getting snubbed at the actual Tonys, so enjoy this Tony Awards AU which I promise will have a much happier ending.

Michael is three gin and tonics in at a crappy, tourist-trap midtown gay bar. Not a gay club, he stopped going to those in grad school, but a gay bar. In New York City you can find just about any type of establishment with the word ‘Gay’ tacked to the front of it. Michael and Jeremy’s personal favorite being a gay diner.

‘But everyone knows that diners are they gayest of restaurants. Stating it outright is a bit redundant, in my opinion,’ Michael would always say over his fruity pebble pancakes. 

This isn’t a night for pancakes, though. Hell, it isn’t even a night for gin and tonics but here he is. 

Fuck this Michael thinks, running a fingertip around the rim of the glass, wondering if he makes a suitably pathetic sight hunched over a drink, sitting at the bar in a red leather jacket he has yet to take off, eyes constantly darting back to the television hung directly in his line of vision. 

Of all the crappy bars around Times Square, there was a reason why he chose this particular one. The Tony Awards. Mainly that, instead of having sports or music videos or films or whatever else on their televisions, he knew this gay bar would play The Tony Awards, and no matter how pissed off he was, he had to know. Looking onscreen at the crowd he was originally meant to be a part of hurt. It hurt like hell. But he could be a stubborn bastard if he wanted to.

‘There is no way I am coming with you to the Tonys tonight, Jeremy. Not as your date. Not as your plus one. Not as your goddam friend because it’s obvious enough I’m not that. Have fun with whatever seat filler they stick next to you. I hope she’s cute. Asshole.’

Yeah. Shouting those words in Jeremy’s dressing room dug his grave, so he has nothing left to do but lie in it. 

Whenever the camera pans out to a swooping shot of the audience, Michael tries to spot the place he was meant to fill. Seat saved for one supporting partner of one potential Best Actor in a Leading Role in a musical. 

Well, not any more.

‘Another gin, please.’

Glasses clank. He takes a sip. Grimaces. God, even the gin is crap.

And guess which category is next? The names are read off. Clips are played. 

He doesn’t smile when Jeremy Heere’s face, unemotional, fills the screen. 

He doesn’t smile when the name is spelled out, flashing directly underneath the necktie he helped to tie mere hours ago. 

He doesn’t smile at the clip of Jeremy singing a song he used to rehearse around the apartment, with Michael filling in for every other voice that wasn’t there. 

He doesn’t smile. Instead he takes another sip of the heinous gin, and tries to pretend that his heart isn’t getting incrementally tighter in his chest as the music ramps up to the announcement.

‘And the winner is…’

Silence. Agonizing silence. The sound of alcohol being poured.

‘Jeremy Heere!’

Michael gasps. He squeezes his hand around his glass so hard he could crush it. He wants to cry. Goddammit. Why does he want to cry?

The camera follows Jeremy as he stands from his aisle seat, straightens his jacket, and walks, but not before looking down at the girl sitting next to him. A look that Michael recognizes as a sort of longing for... something. Something not there.

Jesus fucking Christ Michael thinks. My heart can’t take much more of this crap.

Jeremy looks stoic. Like he is heading to an executioner’s block instead of a podium and a shiny golden statue. 

Stairs. A short walk onstage. Jeremy gives a small smile to the presenter upon taking the award, a smile that the camera barely captures, but then his face falls back to its impassive state. With hair gelled back and a perfectly fitted suit, Jeremy looks up and stares at Michael from every screen in the bar.

‘This is a fantastic honor. Really. I do want to thank you all for this. It means so much to me.’ 

Jeremy looks down at the statue, held in both hands, almost like he is gathering courage. Michael just stares and stares at the screen, and the bar melts away around him. He looks back up.

‘I had hoped to spend this speech telling everyone how they got me here, and how grateful I am. I planned and wrote it all out, but I cannot do that anymore. Today I screwed up. I screwed up enormously. I was supposed to be here with my beautiful boyfriend, the love of my life, but I…’

Pause. Breath. He seems to be gathering courage.

‘...did something bad. I treated him poorly. He’s gone now and I am so, so sorry.’

Michael’s body goes completely still, hand halted halfway towards the glass. There is nothing else in the world but Jeremy and the words being spoken on that screen.

‘Anyway, he has no right to forgive me but this, right now, is myself showing an unbelievable amount of hope. Because I hope that he sees that I could care less about this award without him to share it with. You never would have given it to me if it wasn’t for him, anyway. His name should be carved into the base right next to mine.’

The bar could start burning down around him at that very second and Michael would not know to leave. Shit shit shit shit shit he thinks, incapable of processing any more elaborate thoughts on the situation. Shit shit shit shit shit.

‘I hope that Michael knows I love him and is willing to let me do what it takes to get him back because I cannot do this alone.’

A tear slowly crawls down Jeremy’s cheek, documented for all time, and Michael is in a similar state. The music begins to play and Jeremy almost seems to be spooked out of whatever reverie he delivered that speech in. 

‘Ummm… thank you all. Goodnight.’ He walks offstage.

The camera pans out. 

Commercial break.

‘Holy shit,’ Michael murmurs. 

‘Holy shit,’ he repeats, slightly louder.

A few moments pass as he processes.

‘Holy shit!’ he practically yells.

‘Can I help you?’ the bartender asks, looking more frustrated than worried.

‘I need to go to Radio City NOW!’

‘You can go wherever you want as long as you close your tab first.’

‘Right right right right right cool.’

Michael reaches into his pocket and pulls out some twenties (something Jeremy would mock him for Who carries cash anymore? It’s not the stone age) and throws them at the bartender. It’s midtown. However much the drinks should cost he assumes they charge double. 

He runs, bursting out the door and onto the Manhattan street, and tries to calculate how far he is from Radio City. It’s gotta be what… three or four long blocks and just as many short blocks? He knows that the awards ceremony will still go on for some time, and there is all the mingling afterwards, but suddenly it seems imperative he get there immediately.

Am I still angry? He wonders for a second, and then watches, amused, as that thought floats away without him paying very much attention to it. Guess not.

It’s amazing what hearing someone confess their undying love for you on television does to a person.

He runs.

And runs.

And then speed walks because running has never been his strong suit and he can feel himself getting uncomfortably sweaty. 

He cuts through Times Square as quickly as possible, internally bitching about the general idiocy of tourists, and pointedly not looking at the creepy Elmos trying to get him to take a photo with them.

Only a few blocks left. He doesn’t look at the buildings he passes or the people on the sidewalk, until he can’t help it because there is nothing but people on the sidewalk. 

Shit.

Of course there would be massive crowds around Radio City. Celebrity hunters. Security. Ridiculous amounts of security. Michael puts his head down and plows onward towards the red neon lights and white press tents until he is at what he knows to be the entrance, and the shoving begins. 

People probably curse at him or make frustrated sounds. Maybe they even push back. He doesn’t notice. His eyes are on the security team blocking the way. 

‘You have to let me in,’ he shouts at one of the guards, who glances his way then pointedly ignores the request. Michael smacks his hands down on the metal barrier his right side is squeezed up against.

‘No! You don’t understand. You have to let me in. I’m dating one of the winners. I am Jeremy Heere’s plus one.’

The security guard doesn’t bother to look up, but the girl standing next to him does and her eyes go wide. She has her phone in her hand, streaming the awards ceremony happening mere feet away live as she waits for god knows what outside, but suddenly she pays no attention to that whatsoever.

‘Oh my god!’ she gasps. ‘You’re the guy Jeremy Heere just gave his speech about. That shit was crazy! What are you doing out here you have to get inside? I totally recognize you from his Instagram.’

Of course she does. Goddammit.

‘Yeah, well,’ Michael begins. ‘I think my chances of getting in there now are pretty slim. I shouldn’t have come here anyway.’ Michael sighs, running a hand over his face. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking, of course they wouldn’t let some guy just in like that but I wasn’t even thinking I just had to get here. I should probably just go back to the apartment and see if he actually shows up tonight. Send him a text. I know he probably isn’t looking at his phone in there.’

The girl looks at him then, unemotionally, raises her phone and takes a picture of the sorry sight he is making outside Radio City.

‘Hey!’ Michael shouts back. ‘Privacy, much?’

‘I have a plan to get you in there you just have to wait like… twenty minutes probably.’

Ten or so minutes pass and Michael feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. He takes it out and sees tons of missed texts, some older ones from people who saw the speech asking What the fuck was that about?!? but more recent ones including an image. An image of himself looking frustrated in a crowd of people, wearing a bright red leather jacket, standing in front of what is obviously Radio City. 

It’s all over twitter! People are saying. Dude, you HAVE to get in there. You’re about to start trending. This is on every Broadway related page rn.

Michael turns to the girl. ‘What the fuck is this?’ he holds up his phone. She shrugs.

‘I’m not that twitter famous or anything but I’ve been live tweeting about the Tonys and knew this would be a bombshell if I tagged the right accounts. And look,’ she holds up her phone. ‘The official Tony Awards page even liked it. If you don’t have connections on your end looking for ways to get you in right now, I’m sure the head honchos at the network are considering it. Just for the dramatics. Reuniting with your sad boyfriend who literally just gave a speech begging for you back would be great for ratings.’

Michael can’t stop staring at his phone.

‘This is fucking insane.’

‘Anyway, someone is there has to have a phone, and I bet you they’ll show Jeremy Heere in the next commercial break. If he really meant what he said, I doubt you’ll have to wait for long.’

And with that, her headphones are back in and she continues to watch.

**Author's Note:**

> Backstory about me and how this happened: 
> 
> So I do not write fanfiction. Not really. I did twice in high school and gave it up. I now work in the theatre industry and got comps to BMC during previews. And I immediately requested comps again and went two days in a row. 
> 
> This Tony Awards story has been living in my head and I realized that there's this whole world of BMC fanfiction and that the characters actually sort of fit the concept.
> 
> So here we are. 
> 
> It is embarrassing because like... these are people I know. But also, as the modern kids say, yolo.
> 
> Hopefully this isn't discovered and ruins my chances of ever working again.


End file.
